Reflections
by bugface
Summary: Just my take on my take on Calleigh's makeup towards the end of season 1, kind of HC


Title – Reflections Author – ME! Gracie (lazyfrog) Rating – PG, maybe PG-13 , and that's only because of a short fight in the middle Disclaimer – I'm running out of excuses, it's not funny anymore, they're not mine. A/N – Okies, this is only my second Miami piece, please be honest, I you think this is really bad, tell me! Honesty is GOOD!  
  
~*~  
  
Calleigh sat stiffly on a stool in front of her dressing table. She stared unseeing into the mirror, focussing on the pale blotchiness of her cheeks; the deep shadows under her eyes from lack of sleep and the frown lines that marred her otherwise smooth complexion. After a few minutes, she sighed, and shifted on her seat.  
  
'Since when did I start looking so awful?' She thought bitterly. 'At what point in my life did I become so stressed that it shows on my face?'  
  
Her beautiful cream-coloured skin slowly turned black as she applied yet another layer of thick, smoky eye shadow. She smiled wryly.  
  
~*~  
  
"Oh...I don't look good in all black." She said, grinning to hide her mild annoyance on revealing such a personal thought.  
  
She wasn't expecting Horatio to respond to her simple statement, but he managed to surprise her again.  
  
"I beg to differ." His low, intimate voice floated through the air, and Calleigh found herself only slightly shocked by his response.  
  
She looked at him curiously, but there was no falter in his step, nor was there any disturbance to the natural calmness that surrounded him. In fact, she could almost have sworn that he had said nothing at all.  
  
~*~  
  
She smiled, letting the memory of his compliment to wash over her for what must be the millionth time. Oh, how tempting it was to give into that man.  
  
Again, she stared intensely at the mirror, as if it could by some unexplained phenomenon produce an image from the future in which she was lying in his arms. Yet, he was with Yelena, she saw it in the simple glances and touches she had once believed belonged to her. She quickly dismissed the unwelcome image of them...together.  
  
Sighing, she picked up a tube of mascara. She carefully positioned herself so that the light shone into mirror and allowed her to see her face without the shadows that raced across her face in the dark, and applied a little of the dark makeup to her eyes.  
  
She blinked once: slowly. Delicately.  
  
For a long moment, she examined her work. Appearing dissatisfied, she put on some more, until she was hidden successfully behind a curtain of cosmetics. She smiled to herself once more, and placed the mascara on the dressing table, only to search in a small, white bag and produce a lipstick.  
  
She slowly removed the upper tube, revealing a bold, bright red colour. She tilted her head, contemplating on whether she dared to use such a shocking shade to work. In the end, the wild side of Calleigh that she had buried deep down won, and she carefully smeared a generous coat of the colour onto her lips. She then surrounded it with a vibrant lip liner.  
  
Once more, she turned her face to the mirror. Her lips were now far too red for her liking: the exact shade of blood. She remembered a life time ago, staring into her face, yet not her own face.  
  
~*~  
  
She sat on the simple wooden seat in the front garden, waiting for her date. She wiped her sticky hands on the sheer red satin of her prom dress. The butterflies stirred in her stomach, causing her to momentarily forget why she could not wait indoors. It was a beautiful evening in early summer. The flowers that surrounded the lawn were just beginning to open up to the world, and their sweet perfume scented the lazy air.  
  
Suddenly, a scream from the house pierced the tranquillity of her mind, when all she wanted to do was forget. Lately, every night had been the same: her father would be drunk before he even entered the house, and her mother was rarely sober either. It was an unspoken agreement. Words were hardly exchanged and everyone in the house got on with whatever they happened to be doing.  
  
Dinner was always the hardest affair. Being the terrible cook that she was, Calleigh's mother burnt a lot of the food, which in turn triggered her father's temper. He was a self-centred man with little patience which proved only to further agitate the rest of his family; he was prejudiced, edgy, and intolerant of anyone who dared to talk back in any way.  
  
Such dinners usually ended in huge rows between mother and father, leaving the children to their own devices. Calleigh's brothers rarely, if ever lent her their support. Thus, much of her relatively unhappy childhood was spent alone.  
  
She remembered early in life, she had asked her father about weapons and war. Her father had told her that everyone was her own person, that everyone had to protect themselves, and to never, ever trust anyone else. This mistake, he explained, could cost a woman her life, and a young woman's life was the most precious thing in the world. Then he enveloped her in a hug and left without another word.  
  
That must have been the only affection he had ever shown her, when he was sober.  
  
That year, she received a gun.  
  
She taught herself to shoot.  
  
Her brothers used to tease her about it. It wasn't 'ladylike'. It wasn't acceptable in society for a girl to know how to shoot a gun.  
  
She decided then and there that wherever her life would lead, bullets would be her protection, behind her gun she could hide, and nobody would see the little girl hiding beneath her eyes.  
  
Her mother had told her to be the queen, and she had. With Patrick, she enjoyed the best night of her life, dancing at her high school prom, savouring the feeling of being just like ever other girl in America. Young, free and reckless.  
  
Her high spirits were shattered when she returned home. Patrick had dared to kiss her goodnight on her front door step. Calleigh had thought her family would be asleep. She had hoped with everything in her they were asleep.  
  
Everything happened too fast.  
  
Someone slapped her powerfully round the face. She fell against the doorframe.  
  
She could feel blood dripping from her chin onto her beautiful red dress.  
  
Everywhere she looked she could see red.  
  
There was too much blood for one person.  
  
She winced slightly as she switched on the light. Patrick was slumped against the wall, while her father took another swing at him, and another. The teenager would have fallen down, had it not been the force of the other man's beating.  
  
She was aware of a voice screaming at him to stop, recognising with a sudden jolt that it was her own.  
  
He turned to look at her then, as if noticing her for the first time. He moved towards her slightly, unsure if she as real or not. She could see it in his eyes that he was drunk, that he would wake up in the morning with a killer headache and wonder why there was blood on his hands.  
  
He looked at her accusingly, before walking calmly upstairs, without so much as a backwards glance.  
  
Calleigh rushed over to her boyfriend, helping him to his feet, and fetching a wet towel to clean up his face. He would definitely have a black eye, not to mention a bust lip and an odd shaped cut on his forehead, which looked vaguely father's engagement ring. His nose was bleeding badly too.  
  
"I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry."  
  
Her whispered apologies continued to fill the air between them as she cleaned his face. He remained silent.  
  
"I think I better go." He said eventually, "I guess I'll see you round..."  
  
After he left, Calleigh finally allowed herself to break down. Her whole body shook with sobs. There she sat: a pathetically miserable young woman dressed in what was once a gorgeous red gown, now covered in blood.  
  
Quietly, she packed her bags and left. She would never return.  
  
After all, in her Father's eyes, it was a sin to kiss a black man.  
  
~*~  
  
She cursed the single tear that coursed down her perfectly applied makeup. Why did she even bother? Sometimes she wished that she were numb. Sometimes she could understand why her father chose to drink his life away, but then she was furious at herself for understanding him. He had ruined her life. She forced herself to remember that.  
  
She carefully removed the tear from her flawless skin, noting the stickiness of the saline liquid on her finger. She observed with irony that the tear was warm. She felt frozen inside. She felt empty.  
  
But she didn't want to feel. She wanted to be able to walk with her head high. She never wanted to have to make excuses for herself or her father. She wished that she could be brave enough to take the biggest risk of her life. She wished wishes came true.  
  
Her face now coloured artificially beyond recognition, she rose from her stool. Hagen liked her makeup this way. He had told her so. He wanted a Barbie doll to cling onto his arm. For now, she would fulfil his fancy, but she could never offer him her heart. There was always something holding her back, and she knew exactly what it was.  
  
She wanted desperately to ask Horatio exactly what he thought of her. That way, she could move on with her own life, knowing that his was with Yelena – his sister-in-law, his brother's widow.  
  
With one last glance at the mirror, she exited the room, and entered a new chapter of her life with her head held high.  
  
~*~  
  
A/N – PLEASE tell me what you think: if you think it is good or if you think it is crap. Please? My muse needs reviews otherwise it is miserable and that makes me miserable! Thanks to all those who reviewed 'Calm after the storm' – this ones for you! 


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